


Can it get any worse?

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-14
Updated: 2006-02-06
Packaged: 2019-01-19 18:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12415851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Normally, James Potter's life isn't too bad. Today is different. Everything is going wrong at once and there's no end to the disasters round the corner. Detentions, Quidditch, Lily Evans, a dark and terrifying plot and, somewhere, a large and greasy nose poking in where it most definitely isn't wanted. Welcome to Hell, Potter.





	1. Remember thou art mortal

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Can It Get Any Worse?**

 

A/N: Part 1 of a series of Marauders-era shorts. The other parts will be followed by a series of other stories in the same universe. Sequels may well hop about the years a bit — those in the works range from second-year through seventh with POVs including James, Lily, Sirius and Bellatrix, plus others as the plot bunnies strike.

 

 

From the moment he woke up, he knew nothing was going to go right. James Potter was alone in the Gryffindor Sixth-Year dorms, it was the day of the deciding Quidditch Cup match against their mortal rivals Slytherin, and the Captain was lying in bed. As said Captain was also star Chaser, spare Seeker, pinup, one-man dirty tricks squad and expert sledger, this was a problem. Not too much of a problem; on the contrary, sleeping in for Gryffindor, Hogwarts and quite possibly England was one of his major talents. Once he had found his glasses, however, he glanced down at his watch and let loose a blood-curdling yell. 

 

“SIRIUS!”� There was no reply. Evidently, the traitorous bastard had gone down to breakfast with the other five boys in their dorm. This was not good. Nine o’clock already, there was a prank to be played and the minor matter of Slytherin to be thrashed for the third year running. How dare the overgrown git leave him asleep? No time for that now. He got up, still muttering curses against his housemates in general and Sirius L. Black in particular. As he dressed in his ever-so-slightly non-regulation Quidditch robes without bothering to shower and jogged off towards the Great Hall, he prayed that he hadn’t missed the traditional breakfast gamesmanship. He had been quite pleased with the Gryffindor contribution.

 

As James strode into the Great Hall, he gave a tiny nod to Sirius. For a few seconds, nothing happened, then strident music rang out from all around — James vaguely recalled it as Muggle, German and something Remus liked. There were women involved somewhere. The Sulkies? Never mind; everyone looked properly stupefied and impressed. As the students continued to point and mutter over the music — a satisfying number of them looking at the Gryffindor table — James looked up at the sun on the enchanted ceiling. Seven black dots were rapidly growing larger. As they approached, others glanced up and began to point, exclaiming to their friends. Within a minute, everyone in the Hall was looking up at what were clearly seven birds. A new and louder babble broke out. Some Ravenclaw fifth-years were particularly loud. 

 

“It’s only some sparrows. You know it mimics whatever’s outside, idiot.”� “Since when do sparrows play Wagner?”� “Bit big to be sparrows, aren’t they?”� “It’s albatrosses. We’re all goin’ to be murdered in our beds. Me grandad was on the _Dutchman_ and the cook died the day after they saw one.”� “It’s Grims and auguries that do that. You don’t get albatrosses in Scotland anyway.”�

 

“Auguries are rain, I think. And I can see what they are now. Didn’t think you got phoenixes in Scotland either. Certainly not in flocks.”�

 

Yet phoenixes they were. Seven red and gold birds the size of swans swept down out of the ‘sky’ and flew two laps round the Hall before doing a close pass over the Gryffindors.  So far, so good. From the Slytherin table came a deep bellow of “Oppugno!”� At once, the phoenixes changed direction and dived on James, pecking away at his robes and hair. Although they were only conjured, their claws and beaks were painfully sharp. There was little left of James’ robes and his hair was distinctly more ragged than usual when Remus finally managed to Vanish the demented birds. From the high table, a jovial Professor Slughorn gave out detentions to be served that afternoon, managing to sound cheerful even when dishing out punishment. Despite the fact that James had, to all appearances, been only a target, he joined Sirius and a Slytherin seventh-year named Derren Brown in detention. Fuming less at this injustice than at the delighted reaction of the other houses to seeing a Marauder prank rebound on its originators — the Slytherin table had rarely had such respectful looks bestowed on it — the Gryffindor team gathered by the door and headed out to the changing rooms. Although they were already in full kit, it was easier to conduct team talks in the privacy of the locker rooms. James’ speech was unusually brusque.

 

“Right.”� he said, looking extremely bad-tempered. “Get out there and kick some arse. Forget fair play; if they want to play dirty then we will too. It’s our last game together, we’re easily the better team, the Cup’s got our name on it and the bastards are going down!”� Already flustered by the events at breakfast, the team didn’t quite know what to make of this new and disturbingly bloodthirsty Captain. Yet blank looks were replaced by determination, as the team recalled how good they were and that having a Captain who wanted the opposition dead wasn’t too much of a change from one so reckless he presumably wanted himself dead. James hadn’t been precisely suicidal in their previous matches, just utterly indifferent to danger, happy to fly through anything including duels [fourth year, vs Ravenclaw, severe boils on left leg], lightning [third year, Slytherin, burned hair and scalp] and the commentator’s podium [sixth year, Ravenclaw again, severe concussion]. As the team flew out of the changing rooms — quite literally flew, as James’ predecessor had started the practice of coming out on their brooms in the belief that it gave them a psychological advantage — the commentator introduced the teams. 

 

“Welcome back for the final and deciding match of the 1977 Quidditch Cup. For Gryffindor, leading the table by 150 points, it’s Robins, Scrimgeour, Hopkirk, Flashman, Avery, Captain Potter aaaaand Buckley. For Slytherin, not the highest scorers in the world but with some special talent in the Seeker position, put your hands together and your wands in the air for Captain and Keeper Pucey with Derrick, Black, Nott, Avery, Black and the Racing Snake herself, Joooooooo Minshaw! A unique game here, as two Averies and two Blacks line up. In case anyone’s confused, that’s Ben and Julius Avery, Chasers for Gryffindor and Slytherin respectively and Regulus and Bellatrix Black, Beater and Chaser for Slytherin. On with the game as Madam Hooch releases the balls. It’s Flashman with the Quaffle...”�

          

Despite the skill of the Gryffindor Chasers, the game was going very badly by their usual standards. James and Ben’s competition to show off their skills to the crowd was normally entertaining and led to some spectacular moves, but James was distracted and whilst his signature flips and sloth-grip rolls were as sharp as ever, he seemed unaware of the existence of his team-mates, rarely passing accurately. With every failure he grew more frustrated. Inside half an hour, Slytherin led by 70 points to 30.

 

“And Black intercepts the Quaffle from Hopkirk. It’s Black for Slytherin, Black to Avery, back to Black and what’s this? Buckley has seen the Snitch! He’s diving, but Minshaw’s right on his tail, getting closer, NO! There’s nothing there, he must be feinting but he’s not pulling out, he’s going in and he’s not going to make it Buckley is down as Minshaw climbs away and Gryffindor Captain Potter is calling for time out.”�

 

As the remaining six Gryffindors watched Xav Buckley being carried off to the hospital wing, Victor Flashman exploded in frustration.

 

“That was the worst Wronski Feint I’ve ever seen. My granny can fly better than that. What did the idiot think he was doing, trying to kid Minshaw? Come to think of it, what was he doing playing against Minshaw? Can’t you find one better seeker in a hundred of us?”� At this point a commanding voice broke into Victor’s catalogue of complaints.

 

”�Stop whining, Flashy. It won’t get us anywhere. Besides, I don’t see you trying any death-defying stunts, successful or otherwise. Bucks did his best, now be quiet and listen to the plan.”� Ben broke off here, waving gracefully at James to carry on where he left off. With a look of slight pique at being upstaged by his dorm-mate, fellow Chaser and [mostly-] friendly rival, James carried on.

 

“Right, I’ll take over at Seeker, if that’s alright with Lightning Flash there. Cassius, Felix, cover Ben more closely. Chris, watch you don’t drift away from the left hoop — you’re favouring your right. That’s how we let in the last. We can still win this guys; Nott and Bella couldn’t score at their own weddings.”� With those novel words of encouragement, the game resumed at a considerably faster pace; Gryffindor took every opportunity to attack despite their numerical disadvantage whilst Slytherin were desperate to get 150 points up before their bogeyman pulled off another insane miracle. Each team put on 20 points in short order as James and his opposite number floated around waiting for either the Snitch to appear or the other one to move. A few experimental loops and dives revealed to James that he was more willing to take chances and a considerably more experienced flier than the tiny Slytherin, but his manoeuvrability was not as good and his extra weight was a speed handicap as well. 

 

As Bellatrix slammed yet another shot under Dionysus Robins’ flailing arm, James spotted a tiny gold glimmer almost under the Slytherin stand. The commentating Hufflepuff, a small and infuriatingly squeaky third-year, broke off his eulogy to Bellatrix’s skill and beauty at once.”�Potter’s seen something. He’s diving straight for the base of the stand but Minshaw’s right behind him. She’s coming level; will he block her or keep going? Potter moves to block but what does Minshaw think she’s doing? She’ll never survive charging Potter — but he’s breaking off and Minshaw has the Snitch. I repeat, Minshaw has the Snitch and Slytherin win 250 to 50. Slytherin take the lead in the Cup, with Ravenclaw needing to win by 350 points against Hufflepuff to catch up. The Cup’s going back to the dungeons, people. Merlin, but that girl can fly. Three cheers for the Racing Snake, Hogwarts!”� Most of the stadium erupted in cheers. Even many of the Gryffindors could not begrudge the tiny second-year Seeker her moment of glory.

 

After all, Professor McGonagall mused from her seat in the commentator’s podium, next year the Slytherin team would be very thin and this defeat could always be blamed on an excessively honourable Captain refusing to ram midgets... No, it didn’t help _that_ much. Losing to Slytherin was losing to Slytherin [not to mention that fat slob Horace] and chivalry was only permissible 364 days a year. She would have Words with Mr Potter on the importance of keeping a cool head in team talks, although the image of Theodore Nott and Bellatrix Black he had provided would liven up many a Transfiguration lesson for her. In the meantime, there was that interview for _Transfiguration Today_ to go to. Fun.

 

After changing in dead silence, shocked by his team’s first defeat in two years, James left the changing rooms alone, knowing that the rest of the team would be either wasting time on recriminations or annoyingly cheerful. The current team were talented and flew well together, but were hardly the best mates a guy could hope for off the pitch. No, the best thing to do was to head back to the Gryffindor Common Room, hide the supplies the Marauders had brought in for the ‘inevitable’ victory party, and go to Slughorn’s detention. 

 

“Oh Ja-ames! Poor you, all miserable. I’m sure we can do something about that, can’t we?”�

 

Oh. Damn. James knew that simpering voice. It belonged to Lara Notsil. On the one hand, being adored by reasonably pretty girls was flattering and exactly the sort of thing James Potter, Quidditch Star Extraordinaire etc., would like. On the other, she was quite possibly the dimmest and most irritating creature anywhere outside the Puffskeins section of the Magical Menagerie. Pond life had more sense and Peeves was better conversation. James jerked himself back to reality as he spotted Avery and Pucey heading in his direction. Even Lara was preferable to enduring their gloating, especially as he knew he could fly circles around both. In fact...

 

“Hi, Lara. I’m just heading over to the lake now. Want to come?”�

 

James had had precisely no intention of going near the lake, but it was the most public place well out of the way of errant Slytherins. Public was good. No, wait, public was not good. Public meant endless rumours, sly jokes as people passed him in the corridors and more ammunition for Evans. So, public ridicule and insults from Lily or being dragged into a broom closet by the Airhead From Hell. It couldn’t actually be _painful_ , could it?  

 

“Actually, Lara, I’ve changed my mind. How about...”�

 

A/N: This is about half way through the Worst Day Of Potter’s Life [maybe a bit less]; still to come are Megaera Lilii, some interesting threats, fraternising with the Enemy, a matter of honour and escaping pets.


	2. Thou shalt not be found out

A/N: The second half of James’ Worst Day. We thought Cho was bad news for Harry. We knew Lavender was bad news for Ron.? We thought Romilda Vane was the worst disaster possible. Wrong again.

 

 

“Oh James. James....”�

 

“Get me out of this. Oh _God_ get me out of this.”�

 

“Mmmm, what was that?”�”�I said ‘God, you have nice tits”�

 

“Ohh, glad you like them. Took long en-aaaaaahhh”�

 

Despite this evidence of ... satisfaction, James was finding it very difficult to lie back and think of Gryffindor. Instead, he thought longingly of anyone, _anyone_ who could get him away from what felt something like the Giant Squid, with twice as many arms. Even Snape — no, not Snivellus. After all, Lara didn’t want to kill him. Now, what was it Sita had said about these moments? Ah yes, ‘somebody may as well enjoy this.’ ”�What was that, gorgeous?”�”�You’re going to enjoy this. I know I’m good, but you should still be able to hear.”� As Lara gave a beatific smile and began to demonstrate _exactly_ how good she thought he was, the door to the old Charms classroom creaked open.

 

“Professor M.... POTTER! Of all the unspeakable.... Detention. Separate. With McGonagall, or whoever the HELL can stand the sight of your arrogant face! Now, kindly explain what you think you’re playing at, before I decide to fetch Professor Morrison down here so you can tell _him_ what you were doing in his classroom.”� Remarkably, Lily managed this diatribe without acknowledging the existence of Lara except for a brief glare on the ‘separate’. This was completely lost on the back of Lara’s head. Mortified, James fell back on sarcasm and a sneer which would have had any Black [Sirius included] fuming in sheer jealousy.

 

“Well, Evans, it isn’t really my place to _explain_ \- your parents ought to be doing that — but if you fancy a practical demonstration, be my guest. Tonight, behind the statue of Lakshmibai on the fifth floor. There’s a reason they called her ‘the Lascivious’ and I’m sure you’d ... appreciate the modifications to her statue.”� Evidently unable to think of a suitable reply, Lily turned a shade of crimson that clashed violently with her hair and stalked off in search of Morrison, the ancient, irascible and incomprehensible Charms professor. Just like Lily, James mused, to spend more time around a relic from eighteenth century Inverness than the brilliant, talented, funny and devastatingly handsome Quidditch Captain. Now, time to get rid of Lara gracefully. At least Lily had done something for him.

__

“Lara, it’s been good but I have to go to my detention with the Slug. Now. Bye.”�

 

?“Oh, any time sexy. So, behind Lakshmibai at, er, seven-thirty?”� she replied with considerably more confidence than James had expected, if not with a huge amount of tact.

 

?”�Oh, right. Lakshmibai. I think not. Got to dash, see you ‘round.”� Before Lara could try again, he slipped out of the classroom, behind a tapestry of Balrog the Blazing and down a spiral staircase in the direction of the dungeons. Slughorn might be a dozy old bastard, but he probably had it in him to remember who had detentions and when. Besides, the Slug wasn’t going to keep asking him to join that ridiculous club forever and when he stopped Potions was probably going to get a good deal harder. As all this ran through his mind, James passed through the teaching dungeons, strode past the Slytherin common room with an instinctive glance at the door for booby-traps and stopped outside the rather lurid lime-green door of Professor Slughorn’s office.

 

Coolly, he raised the gold snake’s-head door knocker and knocked, once. It made only a very gentle thump, but the door opened a second later to reveal an unusually stern-looking Slughorn and a large, palatial office filled with photographs, keepsakes and expensive-looking equipment of all sorts.

 

“James, James, whatever are we going to do with you? _Highly_ irregular enchantments in the Great Hall, more detentions than anyone in the school barring your friend Black, natural brilliance but you are behind in four subjects and severely so in mine. I just don’t see the problem.”� As usual, Slughorn sounded world-weary and slightly avuncular; it seemed to be his normal manner when dealing with anyone not in the Slug Club, to whom he was effusive and very avuncular. James decided that indignation wouldn’t help much - righteous fury never worked too well on Slytherins. All things considered, humility was probably the safest option.

 

“I honestly don’t know what you mean about the Great Hall sir; those phoenixes were impressive but nothing to do with me. I am sorry about being so behind and I’ll catch it up as soon as I can.”� This initially seemed to do the trick, but Slughorn’s reply was in a much colder tone.

 

“Then explain to me, Potter, why you were looking at that ceiling a good ten seconds before anyone said anything. If I could prove you were lying to me you’d be in detention from now until Merlin wakes, but I can’t. For now, take the rest of the afternoon to clean up the classroom I use for the exam classes and then strain the armadillo bile in my private stores. Without magic, and without any of your little friends visiting. If I hear one more complaint about you, you shall be given detentions for all three remaining Hogsmeade weekends. If I hear another after that, or if I do not receive your seven-weeks-overdue essay on the Polyjuice Potion by Monday afternoon’s lesson, or most especially if I find a single item missing from those stores, I shall expel you from my NEWT class immediately. There will be no appeal, and your Head of House will support me.”� This hard, cold speech was very unusual for Slughorn. Something was probably up, but now was no time for plumbing the depths of a Professor’s mind, as far as James was concerned. Now, the only thing that mattered was surviving to fight another day.

 

“Yes, I understand sir. May I take it you mean until dinner?”�”�I suppose you may. Very well, until dinner, and do try not to come before me again. I should have _preferred_ not to see you at all, but in Professor McGonagall’s absence I am responsible for discipline. I hope my work is over, I find putting the Fear of Slytherin into students very tiring. Pineapple?”�

 

“No thanks, Professor. I’ll, er, get on with it.”� Mystified, James made for the door.”�Certainly m’boy. Close the door as you go.”� Even more mystified, he left to begin his detention. Something was very wrong indeed.

 

As James opened the thirty-ninth bottle of armadillo bile — or was it the twenty-ninth? — the store-room door swung open to reveal an unexpected visitor. Instead of Slughorn himself, one of his pet students or even another teacher, Bellatrix Black walked into the store, turned to a shelf labelled ‘Dionaea’ and began to count off rows of bottles and boxes, carefully not touching anything. Completely oblivious to James, she muttered to herself and frequently consulted a long list in crabbed handwriting. Eventually, he decided it was better to alert her than to be painfully hexed when she realised he was there.

 

“Hi Bella, all the cheerfulness in Slytherin getting you down?”� Baiting the elder Slytherins was a risky business; they were prone to hexing you first, reporting you second and asking questions of the remains. Bellatrix especially was a threat; her temper was feared by some of the teachers and there were persistent rumours that she had tortured a Ravenclaw second-year into unconsciousness, passing it off as the result of an unauthorised excursion into the Forbidden Forest.

 

“Not exactly, Potter. Some of us have _useful_ things to do. Things more important than serving yet another detention. Not, of course, that an insufferable child like yourself could be expected to understand. Too young, too innocent, too wrapped up in your own little world.”� With a small smirk, Bella returned to her counting, finally lifting a small, clear bottle of something very thick. After holding it up to the torchlight, she nodded decisively and put it back on the shelf.

 

More annoyed at being called a child than at anything else, James watched as Bella strode out of the dungeon, still smirking. The bottle she had been examining turned out, on closer examination, to contain ‘Sap of _Dionaea Sarcophagi_ , specimen from Malaysia. Digest. solv.’ Where was Remus when you needed a walking encyclopaedia? Or Quaine — she might look like the back end of the Knight Bus but she knew her Creatures even better than Remus. James’ reflections were interrupted sharply by the armadillo bile, which had overflowed the flask he was straining it into and was now dripping onto his shoes. Swearing loudly, he wrenched his attention back to the task at hand. 

 

As he decanted the last of the bile, James gave a deep sigh at the prospect of that damned Potions essay. Why should he care about ‘dangers inherent in the production and use of the Polyjuice Potion?’ After all, it wasn’t exactly something you used every day. Mentally composing scathing retorts to Slughorn’s next lecture on the importance of Potions theory and proper safety precautions, James opened up one of his ancient reference tomes and got down to business. After half an hour of diligent study, his mind began to wander once more. No, the Marauders lacked the talent and resources to brew this stuff covertly and count on it working, especially when failure was simply not an option, but what if it could be done in public? A dire warning on the impossibility of animal transformations, and an impressive woodcut of the consequences, caught his eye. Anything this dangerous _had_ to be usable somehow. Time, maybe, to call in a few debts. His mind made up, James returned his attention to the essay. Work was different when there was a practical use for it, especially one involving mayhem, mischief and sticking it to deserving Slytherins.

 

An hour later, James strolled into the library, the dense scroll of his essay under one arm and a pile of books in the other. Passing Madam Pince at the entrance — library cards were for lesser mortals — he set off for the dusty shelves towards the back where the advanced Potions texts were shelved. As he walked, he caught sight of Lily Evans’ unmistakable ginger hair, bent over a textbook with someone he didn’t recognise; probably another lost lamb desperate for Potions or Charms help. Deciding that it was a bad time, he resolved to walk right past, until some chance syllable from her study partner triggered alarm bells deep within him. By the time his brain had consciously processed ‘Snape is sitting at that table’, his wand was out and pointed and the Potions texts safely out of sight. It didn’t do to let the Enemy see one reading up on his favourite subject, after all. With his ever-uncertain suave thoroughly shaken by the sight of his worst enemy sitting happily by — well, there were no words for Lily — he simply blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

 

“Snivellus, what the _hell_ are you doing there? How dare you be anywhere _near_ Evans? Get out now, before you end up showing the bookworms your underwear.”� Fortunately, James retained sufficient control that this came out quietly in a low, hard snarl. Surprisingly, Lily was first to reply, in tones which made James sound calm and restrained.

 

“And how dare you, Potter, tell me who I may and may not spend my time with? Especially after your ... escapades earlier. You’ve annoyed me twice in six hours being your normal idiot self. I’m getting _tired_ of this rubbish, now go away. I’m sure Notsil can’t wait to see you again, assuming she remembers your name. While you’re at it, leave Severus alone. Weren’t you the brave Gryffindors last week, four against one and attacking from ambush?”� It was difficult to tell whether James or Snape was more incensed. James turned a deep mauve, Snape merely slipped into his most disdainful Slytherin drawl.

 

“And since when were you under the impression, _Evans_ , that I need you to defend me against the great Potter and his cohorts? I can cope quite well without you poking your little nose in. Potter, I am trying to work. I realise that is a foreign concept to you, but this is _important_.”� 

James was already beginning a murderous retort when he saw _something_ shift under Snape’s robes. Once more, the honed instincts of a Quidditch player, Marauder and veteran corridor duellist took over. Already throwing himself out of the way of a spell not yet cast, he snapped “ _Telasunguis -_?have to be quicker than that Snivellus.”� Somehow, Snape and his toenails survived intact, for Lily had been even quicker than James to cast her Shield Charm even as James began the familiar routine of taunts and hexes. Mindful of the ever-watchful librarian and Prefects, all three paused and growled variants on ‘this isn’t over’. Possibly outnumbered and certainly outgunned, James ducked behind a convenient bookcase. After briefly considering plans of attack, he sauntered off, doing his best to look cool and collected even as he retreated from a girl and a Slytherin.

 

In the shadows of the Restricted Section, a pair of grinning students watched James go by looking so determinedly carefree he jumped two feet in the air at the sound of a clumsy Hufflepuff dropping a pile of textbooks.

 

“Oh, this is too good to miss.”� whispered one. “ _Tarantellagra_ ”�. The other, more feminine voice was less sanguine and gave a war-whoop of pure delight.

 

“NICE ONE BLACK!”�

 

Under cover of Madam Pince’s indignation, James tap-danced his way out of the library whilst everyone stared at a formerly-secret passageway. His fragile calm was almost completely shattered and the thought that even Sirius had turned against him was burning acid holes in his stomach.

 

For once, there was no theatre to James’ entrance into the Common Room. It wasn’t necessary. Normally, he didn’t look like a warrior mage straight out of legend, complete with flashing eyes, swirling robes and an aura of crackling tension. The usual gaggle of third-year girls were torn between ardent admiration and abject terror, mostly compromising by looking away and whispering as quietly as they could. James didn’t give them a second glance, instead making straight for the fire where Peter Pettigrew was comfortably ensconced in _his_ chair.

 

“Wormtail. Shift. I need a plan.”� He shifted. Fast.

 

“Er, right, Prongs. Who is it this time? That should be fun, it’s been _ages_ since we had anything really good. Padfoot will be pleased, he was saying this morning that you must be going soft.”�

 

“ _Sirius_ is part of the problem. As are Evans, Snivellus, Nostril, the Slug and the Knobless and Most Anxious House of Black. Remember the prank war from our fourth year?”� The look in Peter's eyes said he did remember that year, all too well. Even the Marauders couldn’t take on _all_ of Slytherin House, the rest of their year and half the Professors. He nodded cautiously. “Well, this time it’s serious.”� ”�James, whatever you say, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I’m not saying we don’t do it, just...”�

 

“Bloody hell. Aren’t you with me either? Any idea where Moony and Sirius actually are?”� Another voice came in from behind.

 

“Not sure why you want to know, but Liv’s at Charms Club. Sirius has ... gone missing.”� The cultured tones of Ben Avery were _not_ what James had expected, and what did Olivia have to do with it? 

 

“Do I care where Olivia is? And what do you mean ‘missing’?”�

 

“Oh, you know. Miss Finch, Miss Vane, Miss Stanger... I say, I didn’t know there was another Moon in the school. I thought Olivia was an only child.”� ”�Never mind that. Sirius is off being charming, is he? Which girls have I particularly upset this week, that they’d talk Sirius into hexing me for their amusement?”� Peter unwisely chose this moment to rejoin the conversation.

 

“I don’t know James — surely Sirius wouldn’t help anyone hurt you.”� ”�You don’t know much, do you? I’m off to get some dinner. Bye.”� James hopped out of his chair, shot a brief death-glare at the girls’ dorm steps up which Lily was disappearing and left in a swirl of robes which would have delighted his mentor and left Snape green with envy.

 

Arriving in the Great Hall did nothing to improve James’ spirits. Why did the house-elves have to make shepherds’ pie? He hated shepherd’s pie almost as much as he hated Dark Arts, Slytherins and competition, all of which, in the form of Snivellus Snape, were glaring at him from a near-deserted Slytherin table.

 

?He was just finishing the revolting gloop when a familiar cutting voice tore him away from contemplating its remains.

 

“What’s up Potter? Your little friends sick of your antics? Can’t stand seeing your precious Mudblood with me?”� By some miracle James did not move. When he spoke, his voice came out level and cold in the archaic form of a formal Challenge.

 

“ _Par Guinette, par Ellainville et par d’AlenÃ§on, je vous défi. Mon gant Ã  vous, et la magie Ã  la vainqueur_. Your second? Mine is Sirius Black. He will pass the terms to whoever you choose. Good night.”� Although James had daydreamed from time to time, he had never been sufficiently roused to issue a Challenge in anger. Indeed, he was barely old enough to do so and the prospect of his family’s displeasure at a teenage boy risking their honour over a school dispute was enough to control almost any recklessness. Too late now, the gauntlet was down and surrender unthinkable. With the first flash of rage past, the probable consequences of his actions almost overwhelmed him. Would Sirius even stand with him? Would the family back him if word got out? Had Snape even heard of a Challenge before, and did he know how to conduct a duel of honour? More to the point, what the hell would Dumbledore say? The Headmaster was a known opponent of duelling and a vocal supporter of the Ministry ban on duels outside the competition ring. _Oh shit._ Even if nobody was hurt, he could go to Azkaban for this.

 

In a daze, he left the Great Hall and went back to his dorm, which was still empty. Evidently Sirius was still ‘missing’, Peter working and Remus in the Hospital Wing — the full moon was only a day away and he had been unusually weak lately. As something small and hard bounced off his arm, James glanced around the room. Even for a boys’ dorm it was unusually messed up. As if someone had been throwing heavy objects around, which wasn’t too far from the truth. A loud raspberry reverberated from the high ceiling.

 

“PEEVES! Get out! NOW!”�

 

“Oooh, Potty’s all upset. Is he angry about his friend’s relatives, or the little girl he likes so much, or his precious Sarah out flying round the room?”� Sarah was the name James had given to his Snitch, which he enjoyed playing with when bored in lessons. Today it had stayed locked in his trunk, as it was as difficult to catch when properly released as any other Snitch. Evidently, it was no longer there — it was bouncing off the walls and destroying his room. As he made to dive on it, it shot out of the broken window into the evening air. Unable to muster the energy to chase it down or start clearing up, James sank down on his bed in deep despair. No Marauders to cheer things up, Quidditch disaster, Lily attacking him at every turn, Lara, Slughorn being stern, Bellatrix Up To Something and by Merlin’s beard a real straight-out-of-bad-novels duel with Snape. As he sat there in the twilight it seemed that for all James Potter’s advantages, for all his talent and reputation, things really couldn’t get worse. This was the nadir, the bottom of the heap, the absolute pits.

 

A/N: That’s what you think. There are one or two more chapters to this, then I foresee a few more short stories in the same universe; I’ve got three plotted out, viewpoints Lucius Malfoy, Wormtail and Lily. Match these three plots to the names: an offer you can’t refuse, an offer you _can_ refuse and a really cunning plan. It’s not the ones you think...

I’m not a review whore [I’d write if nobody was reading at all] but I would appreciate some feedback. Thanks for reading, Chapter 3 up soon[ish]


	3. Oh what a tangled web we weave

** Can it get any worse? Chapter 3  ** ** – ** ** Oh what a tangled web we weave. **

****

DISCLAIMER: Nothing’s mine except the plot and the OCs. G.M.Fraser tributes are his [cookies to those who spot them], the rest belongs to JKR.

As he lay in bed, limbs tired from a night of pacing, James’ mind raced round the same pattern. Less than twelve hours ago, he had challenged Snape to a formal duel of honour. Seconds later, the full implications of those few French words had hit him – a potential Azkaban sentence merely for speaking the words of the challenge, anything up to and including a life sentence depending on what happened next. Not to mention having to duel Snivellus, who knew more Dark curses than Professor Thornabee. He wasn’t _scared_ , he told himself. Definitely not. Sirius! If anyone knew how to arrange a formal duel, stack the odds without actually cheating and get everyone off scot-free, Sirius would. His family had probably done it a thousand times since the ban came in. With this thought cheering him up very slightly, James hauled himself out of bed and set off for the Great Hall. Plotting on an empty stomach was unnecessarily painful and Sirius, lecherous bastard that he was, might well be there after his night with Selene Stanger, or Gretchen Vane, or...

As he entered the Great Hall, James gave a sigh of relief. Sirius was sitting alone at the Gryffindor table, eating sausages. Looking as unconcerned as he could after a long day and sleepless night, James joined him. ”Morning Prongs, good night?” Sirius said in an infuriatingly cheerful voice.

“No, actually. I don’t know what you and your girlfriend were playing at in the library, but it doesn’t matter now. We’re in trouble. Big trouble.” Sirius looked slightly shocked at this, but carried on being flippant.

“I wasn’t even in the library, it didn’t go far enough that you have to worry and we’ve been in trouble since our second day here. Good idea though, nobody ever goes in the library after hours.”

“How can you be gone all night and not get far? _Anyway_ the problem is that – well, I can’t talk about it here. Let’s go to the crone and talk in the passageway; we won’t be overheard there.” Although James sounded increasingly exasperated, Sirius just shrugged and carried on with his sausages. Realising that James wanted a response, he grunted “Slept inna Come-and-go, not with S’lene. Talks too much. ‘Sides, we’re related.”

“What’d you go and do that for? Never mind, come on.” James lifted the taller, heavier boy by the collar of his robes and practically dragged him out of the Great Hall. Several minutes later, they slumped down in the wide secret passageway, having collected Peter on the way.

“Right guys, we’ve got a problem. I Challenged Snivellus last night.” The capital letter was unmistakable. Peter gasped and turned white. Sirius looked briefly excited, then concerned. As neither seemed likely to say anything, James carried on,“He was with Lily, ‘working’. I know it was a daft thing to do but damn it I can’t let him get away with it! He was insulting her more than me as soon as she was out of sight. It’s done and I wouldn’t get out if I could. Now, are you with me? Pads, your family do this stuff all the time, any ideas? Peter?” As he said this, James’ voice took on a pleading tone he would never have let anyone else hear. His friends answered very quickly.

“With you, James.” said Peter, sounding panicked. “A bit scared, but with you.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Prongs. Not any more of an idiot than usual, anyway. My beloved family may not be good for much, but Father made sure we were taught the formalities. Never know when some uppity blood-traitors might have to be put back in their place. You’re stupider than Wormtail Confunded for getting us into this mess, but we’ll get you out somehow. Take it I’m your second.” It was not a question. As if anyone else would be.

“Hey, I’m not stupid.” Distracting Peter was never a hard job.

“Never mind. Yes, of course you are Pads. Who else? Now, other than brush up on my hexes, what do we do next? I’m sure there’s, you know, stuff you have to do. Find a referee, for one.” James had been told a bit about the duelling code by his father, just enough to recognise [or issue] a Challenge and know it was Bad News, illegal and quite likely to happen if he hung around with and annoyed Blacks for too long.

“Not quite. First thing we need is terms. What happens if he wins, what happens when you do, where, when, the ref, the rules and so on. What’s Snivellus got that you want? Not going to be much, is it? Nothing worth duelling for at all, you great pillock.”

”He leaves Lily alone. That’s it.”

”WHAT? You can demand anything you like, more or less, and all you want is for him to do what Saint Evans is going to make him do anyway? I know you’re nuts about her – just nuts, if you ask me – but I don’t see what’s wrong with you.”

”What else is there to ask for? It’s Snivellus – we can do anything to him we like without his permission, he’s skint, unpopular and hasn’t got anything to lose. All he can do is hurt Lily, and I won’t let him. Besides, losing to me is going to hurt him more than any amount of demands. Tell you what, we’ll get a formal apology out of him for being a git as well.” James’ earlier irritation had temporarily vanished; now he was all business and absolute, shining conviction.  

“Fair enough. Right, what do we offer him if you lose? How about we leave him alone until we all leave, you hand over that super-duper Potions kit and that should cover it. He’d sell his soul for that thing back and it’s no use to you, is it Mr I-only-do-Potions-cos-Lily-does?”

“No, we need that kit. I had a great idea in detention. It’ll wait now. Maybe we could promise to buy him another one. That do?” James wasn’t too worried about what to offer. If he lost, he probably wouldn’t be _able_ to worry for a while. “What was the next thing? Oh right, where and when. Middle of the night, I reckon – a few detentions won’t make much difference if we’re caught. Maybe over the other side of the lake, in that little dip? It’s big enough to hide us from someone looking out of the doors. If we can’t be seen there’s only Dumbledore to worry about. The next night Dumbledore’s away, we go. Snivellus doesn’t like it, he’ll live. If I challenge him, I get first call over the details, right?”

”More or less. He has to agree though, and he gets to choose weapons.” Sirius didn’t seem at all concerned about the latter, but James’ face was a picture. “Don’t worry, it’s not so bad. All he gets is to choose between swords or wands; no Muggle stuff, no staffs, no brooms, none of the other equalisers he’d like to try.”

” _Swords_?”

”Yes, long pointy things. Blunt end goes in your hand, sharp end goes in Snivellus’ gizzard. Got that?”

”D’you think he knows how to use a sword? Never seen him with one.” James was more intrigued than worried by the idea of fighting with cold steel rather than wands. Snape was so proud of his Dark curses, surely he couldn’t resist demonstrating them.

“Nah, how would he learn? I doubt there’s a Snape Sword hanging about somewhere. I mean, there’s a Black one, and an Avery, and Osebert I think has a Staff, but he’s not even pureblood, is he?” The latter lacked the sneer which would have been expected of a Black; even of Sirius with respect to this particular half-blood. Here, it was nothing but a statement of fact.

“Suppose not. We’ll stick to worrying about his hexes for now. Hang on. Are any of your cousins any good with Potions?” This complete non sequitur caused Peter to jerk in surprise as Sirius looked about for trouble. Any mention of the Black sisters usually led to his being called upon to do something dangerous. James didn’t notice; once the stray memory hit him his mind was far away, racing on a tide of possibilities and plots. He ran one hand through his hair as he waited for Sirius to answer.

“Eh? No, Trixie doesn’t do it and Narcissa’s thicker than your mum’s custard. Why the hell are you asking about them? You didn’t... no, you can’t Challenge women. Snape’s the Potions genius, unless you’re planning on involving Evans. Not a bad idea, hexing her while you’re at it.” 

”Excellent. We have another demand. Tell him I want the bottle of _Dionaea Sarcophagi_ sap that Bella is going to steal tonight from the Potions stores. I don’t even know what the damn stuff is, but if Bella can’t use it she must want it for Snivellus and I _really_ don’t want to be poisoned.”

”Right, now I’m confused. Why is my beloved cousin going to steal anything, why do you want it and more to the point how do you know if she hasn’t _done_ it yet?” It took a lot to make Sirius lose his cool and admit confusion. Even as most of James’ mind crackled with energy, a corner noted that confidently predicting the future was just about enough. He gave a succinct description of what had happened during his detention, then went on to explain how he ‘knew’ Slughorn was going to be robbed that night.

“She couldn’t do it tonight, see, because the Slug said he’d check the stores after I left. Today he’ll be in there doing whatever he does, but tonight he’ll be asleep then busy teaching for a few days and as he just checked he won’t bother doing it again for a while. What would you do, if we needed something from those stores?”

”Get Wormtail on it, of course. He can get in anywhere, can’t you Pete?” Peter, who had been gazing at James with awestruck admiration, bounced back into the real world at the mention of his name. James was more practical.”Yes, but Bella hasn’t got Wormtail, has she? Unless one of her friends can turn into a snake or something we only have to worry about her. No, I’d do what I just said. Even if she did get caught she’d blame me and the Slug would be happy to believe her. I’m not one of his precious influential Slytherins. No danger of _me_ sending him pineapples.” As he said this, Peter looked uncharacteristically eager for him to shut up. The smaller boy was almost bursting with enthusiasm when Sirius waved to him to get on with it and say his piece.

“Er, wouldn’t this duel be a bit easier if we knew what Snivellus was going to do? His plans, when he’s going to cheat, who’s coming with him, what jinxes he’s practicing, that sort of thing? Only, I think I can find out.” Having unexpectedly volunteered this idea, Peter turned even paler, with an expression somewhere between apprehension and abject terror. 

”How are you going to do that? Charm Trixie into telling you everything?” Sirius’ tone was dismissive; his opinion of the rumours about his cousin’s sex life had never been a secret. In fact, his final departure from 12 Grimmauld Place had been largely caused by a memorable put-down of one of Bella’s admirers. Well, perhaps telling him he’d not only have a better chance seducing a Quintaped but would be safer too [because the Quintaped had been human once] wasn’t the wisest thing to do. Especially in a carrying voice, in the Great Hall, during dinner, with Bella listening. Under threat of death [maybe she _had_ liked the guy] Sirius had just happened to decide it was time to leave for good. The only way in which he allowed himself to needle her now was calling her ‘Trixie’, which she loathed and the rest of the school found quite horribly inappropriate. James smiled as he remembered their summer together, then returned to the point at hand.

“I think _Wormtail_ might just have a point. Are you a Marauder or not, Sirius? Sneaking around is supposed to be what we do, but any Slytherin would hex us on sight, Prongs might stand out a bit, sightings of the Grim in Slytherin would be fun but not exactly discreet and Moony has a couple of pretty major disadvantages, like trying to kill people.” James knew he was being a bit unfair, but was it too much to expect his  best mate to stop being Sirius and be, well, serious about something? 

”Oh yeah. Sorry, Wormtail. Are you sure it’s a good idea, though? Snivellus and Trixie would torture a rat as soon as look at it.”

”I’m not scared. You really think I’d let you down just because I might get caught? You weren’t worried about Sirius, were you?” Peter sounded insulted, as well as, for all his bravado, terrified. Sirius had the grace to look abashed. James grinned in delight. Having a cheering section was nice, but a friend was better. With Peter and Sirius behind him nothing could go too wrong. 

”Thanks Wormtail, good thinking. Where was I?” “Demands. We’ve got ours. That’s leave Evans alone, a formal apology and one bottle of Diana’s whatsit, assuming my dear cousin gets round to stealing it as Mr Prongs confidently predicts. In the unlikely event that the greasy git manages to cheat undetectably and successfully, you buy him a new Potions kit and we all leave him alone for the rest of time. You fight him the next night Dumbledore’s away, over the other side of the lake at midnight. We still need to agree a referee and the Protocol. Oh, and figure out what to do if it all goes wrong.” Evidently, Padfoot could be sensible. Of course, James thought, he was the expert on all things Pureblood and insane, which summed up duelling quite well. Attacking Slytherins, dirty tricks and charging brick walls head-first also came naturally to him. Perhaps too naturally, now.

“What do you mean, ‘if it all goes wrong’? I’m not going to cheat just to beat Snivellus. Gryffindor, Marauder, Potter, remember? Honest, noble and all that. Jolly good show, may the best man win and who’s for pumpkin juice and hot scones?” James’ imitation of their disturbingly strait-laced room-mate was spot on and drew a high-pitched giggle from Peter. The undertone of concern was not lost on Sirius. James’ pride would not allow him to contemplate cheating against Snape.

“Don’t be daft, I know you’d flatten him in a fair fight. What if he decides to cheat first? You can’t trust a Slytherin with his back to the wall. We need Moony for that sort of thing; it can wait ‘til tomorrow. Wormtail’s info would be nice too. Where I’m stuck is referees. Who can possibly be neutral between us and Snape? It’s like being undecided whether you think all Muggle-borns should be Kissed, you’ve got the lunatics on one side and the rest of us on the other.”

”I reckon Moira Lees ought to be kissed, but I’d prefer to do it myself.” No, Peter still wasn’t too good at tact.

”Save it, Wormtail. This is _really_ not the time. Sorry Pads, spoke too soon. You’re right. Parkinson would have done it, he never took sides in anything if he could help it, but he’s left. Sita would be better yet and nobody trusts her, but I don’t suppose we can ask anyone to come in from outside. No Slytherins. Snape won’t have any Gryffindors, who else is there?” James leapt up and began to pace, unable to sit still for another moment. Considering his luck lately, it was quite possible he’d be forced to back down because no neutrals could be found.

“Got it! What do you think of Dung? No more jokes, Wormtail.”

”Hates Snape. Dunno why, unless it’s because he’s competition for the Dirtiest Student award. Besides, he won’t know the rules and good luck teaching him.” James had never had much time for Mundungus Fletcher himself. There was a funny smell about him, and he had an annoying habit of borrowing other Houses’ teaching brooms to practice his Keeper moves. True, Hufflepuff’s brooms were even ropier than Gryffindor’s, but that didn’t mean he could take other people’s.

“OK then. Pevensie, Kosigan, Harrington, Stanger, Avery.” Sirius had an air of desperation as he listed possible names.

“Peter’s too much of a teacher’s pet, he’d turn us in. Cossie’s too Muggle, Snape would never have him. Harrington’s scary, hates all Gryffindors as bone-headed glory-hounds and I don’t trust anyone who likes History of Magic so much. Stanger’s what, a fourth-year? She’s your girlfriend, so she won’t do anyway. Avery, though. Which one? Our broomstick-up-the-arse mate or the Slytherin scumbag who thinks the sun shines out of his House’s backsides?” At the prospect of facing the horrible consequences of a Challenge _without_ getting to fight James was growing positively murderous. He told himself that the guys were only trying to help and there was no need to bite off heads. It didn’t help.

“The broomstick one. He really believes all that kid stuff about never snitching, stainless honour and a fair fight. He’d love a duel and he’d rather shag Dung than allow any cheating. Snape knows that, and that Ben doesn’t like you too much.” Now that he had a Plan Sirius was perking up by the second. “If you don’t want him, you can always try Evans. Evidently Snape can tolerate her and he knows how much she loves you.” James blushed deeply with a mixture of embarrassment and fury. He might be annoyed with her, but he wouldn’t wish the referee’s job on her. The whole point had been to keep her away from Snape, not to put her in the middle of a duel. His brief attempt to calm himself failed miserably. 

“NO! I am NOT having Lily anywhere near this. Avery’s going to have to do. Sirius, this is the sort of thing Seconds do. Who’s Snape going to choose, do you think? Rosie and Jim are the obvious ones.” To their surprise, Peter started humming something. “What are you doing, Wormtail?” 

“Sorry. Muggle thing. Saw it on TV last holidays at my cousin’s. You can’t imagine how much they’d hate being called that if they knew.”

”No idea what you’re on about, mate. Any idea which one’s Second?” James didn’t expect Peter to answer; the question was directed at Sirius. Both  were a little shocked to hear Peter speak up with absolute confidence.

“Wilkes. Snivellus and Rosier don’t trust each other at all nowadays. Something about a Potions kit.” James realised it wasn’t odd that Peter should be confident about something like this. He heard _everything_ about people, and remembered it. Funny how they’d never thought to make use of that skill before.

“Ah yes. That was us, but nice to know he hasn’t figured that out yet. So, Padfoot, you go and see Jim Wilkes this afternoon and give him the terms, or throw some gloves at him, or whatever it is you do. Make sure you get them back though; they’re mine. Wormtail, I think tonight would be a good time to start the spying, so Padfoot and me can handle Moony for the night.” James wasn’t feeling a great deal better, but decided it wouldn’t be fair to make the others put up with his mood. “Oh, and I’ll go and see Remus. He ought to know what we’re up to and I need a crash course in not-quite-lethal duelling tactics. Yes, Padfoot, I know you’re a Black of sorts with huge experience of this stuff and a Dark library the size of a Quidditch pitch, but Moony would kick your arse in a duel and you can’t really use the library, can you?” Sirius looked a bit taken aback, then eager to disagree, but held his tongue. Grateful, James turned to leave. “See you all at lunch, OK? I’ve got to go and please-explain to McGonagall. Never mind Wormtail, I’ll survive. Talk fast enough and I might even get out of detention. Say it was a misdirected Banishing Charm on her shirt, maybe.”

          

James’ levity had the desired effect; Peter smiled and looked a little less pale, whilst Sirius grinned and winked. Although he felt far from calm inside, the discovery that he could fake it was heartening. Peter also jumped up, saying that he had History of Magic homework to do, which provoked gentle teasing from James and Sirius. Both were of the firm opinion that Professor Binns’ class was good only for devising pranks and had dropped it at the first opportunity. Sirius merely stretched and pulled out a piece of tattered parchment from his robes.

“Aren’t you two forgetting something? We’re in a secret passage. Fortunately for you, Mr Padfoot foresees all things and so can assure you there are no ghouls, ghosts, Professors or other nightmarish creatures out there. I’m off to Honeydukes. Bye.” James almost asked him how he was going to avoid being recognised, then remembered Sirius’ genius for Glamour Charms. The slip shook him; if he was forgetting dodges that old he must be losing it. Snarling to himself that he was _not_ going to crack up for anything concerning Snivellus, he hauled himself out of the Baba Yaga’s hump and strode off to face the world. More specifically, the wrath of Professor McGonagall, primed by her other favourite student.

A/N: Yes, I know it’s very dialogue-heavy. Sorry about that. I was really trying to get Sirius and James right in that chapter, did I do OK? Peter, strangely, didn’t seem too hard though I’ve never been able to write him at all in the past. ‘Rosie and Jim’ is a British kids’ cartoon and comic; it was on in the 70s and AFAIK is still going. You can learn a lot about Professor Thornabee if you look really carefully at his name – think of the Sheriff of Nottingham. The idea of Bellatrix being nicknamed Trixie and hating it is Jeconais’, I think. Next chapter sees Wormtail reporting back and a demonically complicated second strike is devised by both sides. Also up soon is a short fic in this universe set at Malfoy’s wedding. It’s great fun to write, complete with enough skeletons to fill Paris Hilton’s closets, suitably Slytherin schemes from a disaffected Black or two, some very welcome [to us] wedding crashers and a ‘strange’-ly inappropriate competition. 


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